


Ice Can Also Burn

by littlestarlolo, maikurosaki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017, Discussion of war-related violence, Fairy Tale Elements, Far too many metaphors related to snow and ice, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Implied Clint Barton/ Natasha Romanov, Liberal use of Slavic mythical creatures and gods, M/M, Prince Steve, Winter Knight Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 15:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11016555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestarlolo/pseuds/littlestarlolo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maikurosaki/pseuds/maikurosaki
Summary: Once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom, there lived a Prince that never smiled. Despite his great victory against King Alexander and his hydras, Prince Steve forgot how to smile, too busy thinking about his people and the reconstruction of the kingdom. A fate-favoured prophecy and Lord Stark's meddling bring the Winter Knight back into Steve's life. But unbeknownst to everyone, there is history between the Prince and the Knight, one that might make them or break them forever.





	Ice Can Also Burn

**Author's Note:**

> A collaboration for Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2017 with **@littlestarlolo**. Thank you for your wonderful art.  
>  ***  
> This fic was beta read by the amazing **@onthecyberseas** (any mistakes left are mine and mine alone). Thank you **@mods** from CapRBB for such an incredible challenge and for your tremendous work.  
>  ***  
> If you hover with the scroll over the names of the mythical creatures/ foreign words, you will see a brief explanation. :)

 

 

**Prologue**

Our story begins once upon a time, far long ago, when the Firebirds would steal golden apples from the orchards and the wood-sprites would steal the minds of lesser men. When the Grey Wolves would roam the earth and impart justice and the fairies would help the men.

Once upon a time, in a far faraway kingdom, surrounded by the thickest crops and the bluest lakes, shielded by the darkest mountains on one side and the deepest woods on the other, there lived a Prince that never smiled.

_Alas_ , the people wailed, for their Prince had been kind, full of joy and happiness once, generous smiles gathering over his lips like clouds under the gentle blue summer sky. He had laughed and joked with them as a child and smiled and grinned and smirked and chuckled. But all those blessed sounds were long gone now. They evaporated into thin air, never to be heard again.

Crown Prince Steven was fair and handsome and brave. He had never led his people astray. He pledged his honor to their causes and his strength to the tougher tasks of the field. He imparted his wisdom, harsh but just, never raising his tone, never shouting in vain. When others would have shouted their commands, the gentle Prince's voice carried far, far away and all obeyed, knees bending, ears listening. Always brave and always just, always hard-working and always full of riveting thoughts. He had led them in the battle against the cruel King Alexander, time and time again slaying Hydras bound by the evil king's men. He had fought bravely and sacrificed for his people again and again and again until it had seemed that he had nothing left to give until even his most loyal friends prayed at night for the war to end. And once the war was over, after three long and bloody years, never again had the people seen a gentle smile covering his lips.

In the beginning, hope was not lost. His people loved him for his gentle nature and fortitude, for his kind manner and humble demeanor. As such, they attempted to bring the smile back to their Prince's lips. They summoned the strangest and most humorous court jesters for the sharpest jokes and funniest riddles. They hired actors and even brought magical creatures in disguise to make him laugh and cure the curse which seemed to prey upon their beloved prince. Alas, nothing worked. Their hopes to see their Prince smile again slowly began to wither like the dark green leaves of the sycamore tree in autumn.

His friends began to frown with concern more and more often as Prince Steven continued to throw himself into his royal duties, listening carefully to passionate pleas and securing powerful alliances for the future in an attempt to ensure peace into the land. The Crown Prince appeared to be particularly worried that another King Alexander might rise and enslave magicians and warlords to do his bidding through black magic, torture, and pain. Only Prince Steven’s closest friends, who also had fought during those long years, had realized what a dreadful impact the war had had over their Prince. Especially, since the betrayal and murders had begun imperceptibly, like a thief in the night.

At the beginning of his reign, King Alexander claimed a message of peace and his promises for a better future were believed. However, soon disturbing news from the north reached the kingdom, dark whispers of wicked magic and hydras used to do the ill-fated bidding of the newly appointed king. Soon enough, those menacing whispers turned into reality and utter despair as, one by one, the nearby kingdoms were attacked and enslaved, tales of horrifying torture and vile subjugation reaching even the most eastern corners of the land and beyond. The subsequent battles that followed were bitter and heated, bloody and raw, in ways few battles in history were up to that point. The demise of the king came three years later in The Battle of the Rocky Castle, where he succumbed to Prince Steven's sword, after a bitter battle, where, had it not been for the Winter Knight's sacrifice, the fate of the world would have been sealed forever.

However, the war had scarred the earth and blemished the people. Few were spared the cruelty of King Alexander's reign, and even fewer managed to escape it. Most of his warlords had been tortured with dark magic, twisted into weapons without any recollection of their deeds, and the despair had been black and bleak and murky. Some chose death, others isolation, very few sought redemption. Prince Steven had lost his smile by then, but no one had ever noticed. There were too many bruises on the land, too many nightmares that came true, too many stories of perverted and disturbing happenings.

As time passed, the wounds began to close, the scars began to heal and the memories began to fade. King Alexander’s castle was left in ruins as the people fled the land and settled in other neighboring kingdoms. Too much evil had gone unpunished between its walls and too much suffering tainted its dungeons and halls. The land indeed seemed ruined by the venom of the hydras, extinct by then, and by the innocent blood spilled in murder or in torture. No one wanted to stay and no one did. The few remaining survivors took refuge in the neighboring lands, the most sought after joining Prince Steven's kingdom, by then renowned for his fierceness in battle, his bravery and his mercy.

Therefore, it was not surprising that everybody wanted to see their Prince happy again, but as time went by, it became clearer and clearer that the Prince no longer found a reason to smile, and in spite of all the efforts, by then, he seemed a man out of his time.

Thus, in a fit of despair, his father, King Stephen I and his mother, Queen Sarah, ordered one day for three carriages to be filled up with gold and silver and amber, and, accompanied by ten of their most trusted guards, set for the Black Mountain, named so not for the ill-fortune that would befall to any uninvited fellow lost on that land, but because it housed the dragon's hearth. The dragon was renowned for his extraordinary wisdom and his wicked prophecies, although, most of the times, they cost too much and they were filled with riddles.

The dragon took one look at the carriages and one look at the crowned heads, one look at the ten spears and one look at their shields. His greenish wings enveloped the horizon and smoke floated around his nostrils, yet he settled soon enough and nodded slightly at the crowned heads.

Never wavering in battle, King Stephen took two steps forward, under the watchful gaze of his wife, and his voice carried much gravity when he made his plea. He was short and concise for dragons were known to get bored easily. He kept the pain in his voice at bay, and his dark thoughts into the recess of his mind as the dragon listened cautiously, for many crowned heads had come to visit in his lifetime, and many had sought something at times impossible to offer, even if all the old gods would come upon them and all the new ones would offer their strength.

Such seemed to be the case. The future of the Prince was a gray pearl in a sea of darkness, its fisherman too hurt to speak or act. Most disquieting was also the heart of the matter, for people seemed to think that heavy magic at the essence of it, ancient as the mountains and selfish in a way few magic things had ever been.

The dragon puffed, his weary bones hiding the tightness of his heart. He had already spent too many winters on this earth, the weariness of too many troubles and too much unhappiness pondering on his mind like thick dark storm clouds. He had always hated seeing good men suffer.

“King,” the dragon spoke, at last, a puff of warm air surrounding all present company like a warm and fuzzy blanket. “You appear before me with the belief that your son fell prey to one of the most ancient curses, one which knows no breaking and no heart. You fail to comprehend that your son's future is like a leaf. Without sunshine, it will soon yellow and wither away. If the Prince carries on as such, unperturbed in his emptiness, you will lose him by the end of the third winter.”

“No!” The Queen begged, and her fiery eyes shined with a mother's love and devotion. “Please, there must be something we can do! I can't lose my son. I _refuse_ to lose my son. There must be someone able to cure my son, to bring the gentle smile back to his lips.” She stood next to her husband. “I plead with you, oh mighty one, please look into the dark matter of the fate, into the thick veils of destiny, and tell us how we can bring salvation to my son.”

“There is nothing that you can do to stop his destiny from being fulfilled unless...,” the dragon sighed again for he saw the hope, _the other_ , withering away as well. However, he was not sure whether bringing them closer would help, but he could still try.

“Unless what, oh wise one?” The King insisted, knowing too well the jaded glint into the dragon's green eye.

“Unless you are ready to accept that which might happen.” The dragon's voice sounded even older and wiser as he carried on, “You must herald the news throughout the land, nine kingdoms over, if you must, that the Prince will marry whoever will make him smile. The news will bring closer the one savior whom you seek. But you need to hurry for he too is withering away.”

“He?” The Kind repeated incredulous and confused, but the Queen gently shushed him with a kind hand over his arm.

“This man... will he be kind to my son?”

The dragon almost rolled his eyes at the woman, had his age allowed so, for such pettiness would have been most gratifying to his weary mind and soul. These puny humans would never tire to ask pointless questions, yet he did not dare speak against a mother's love, therefore he answered grudgingly:

“If they find each other in time, their love will burn truer than the fire of a firebird and stronger than the old gods put together. He is the ice to your son's fire and your son is the spark to his reason. If their destiny comes to be, I envy the children of men, for they will have a glorious future. However,” and his tone turned menacingly, sending spine-chilling sweat on the men's backs, “if your son does not surrender to the reason of his heart and the call is not made, the Prince will wither away and the kingdom with him.”

The dragon let his words sink before taking flight, his new addition to his treasure disappearing as well. He did not bid them goodbye and the royal heads remained at the base of the Black Mountain incredulous and confused, but determined. King Stephen took one look at his wife, her beautiful eyes speaking already of the decision that needed to be taken. As always, they needed no words, for they had married out of love and their vows had been honest and true. They had been together through enough hardships and enough wars. But above all else, they loved their son, who came as a surprise when no one had hope anymore. They would do what needed to be done.

**Chapter One**

The Prince took in the feast spread in front of him. A mighty boar was still roasting above a fire in the middle of the great hall, under the constant supervision of two cooks. The royal hunters had tracked and hunt it down that very morning, returning to the castle with the pride of a successful day. The sturdy oak tables were laden with chickens, cooked whole and dipped in honey, sweet and juicy ducks, and smoked ham the likes of which most knights had never tasted in their lives. Warm bread lay next to all that meat, ready to be tasted and complete the delicious dinner. Scrumptious pies painted the air around them with the most wonderful of scents, apple and cheese melting together, their golden crusts tempting even the holiest of the men. And through it all, the mead was flowing freely, freeing the leery jests and the happy free-falling laughter. The merry music was the perfect accompaniment for them all.

It was a grand feast. It was a wonderful feast. But it was far from being the first and far from being the last, and Crown Prince Steven, the future King Stephen II, hardly found the humor in the situation anymore. He took a sip from his own goblet, the mead blessing his insides almost instantly with its flavor. Unfortunately, mead had little effect on him, and Steve, as his dear mother called him, stood up from the table and, ignoring his father's reproachful gaze, retreated to the terrace of the castle. Its beautiful archways and its marble columns led to the royal gardens lit by torches, which illuminated a guard here and there and offered Steve a moment of peace, away from the overwhelming merriment.

The crisp night air surrounded him instantly, bringing an awareness of his surroundings that he heavily disliked. Ever since the war, he constantly checked his surroundings, finding escape routes and possible traps wherever he went. It had become tiresome after a while, always being vigilant and always on his toes, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had missed something and that the evil that King Alexander had brought to life in those years had never truly died.

Steve took a deep breath, trying to banish the bleak thoughts that seemed to be his constant companions lately. He pulled up his blue wool cloak, its fur collar tickling his unshaven cheek. He looked up at the sky, a multitude of stars woven into its intricate dark cloth.

The winter came earlier this year and it didn't make his parents happy.

Change unsettled Steve. Ever since his dear parents had been to the dragon, things had changed, the Prince still undecided whether it had been for the better or for the worst. They didn't deny him the truth of the dragon's words: his father spoke with him plainly and to the point, his mother carefully hiding her tears. He felt shocked and dismayed that his parents would resort to the dragon to find out the truth of his condition (Steve hardly believed in curses – he really did blame the war). However, his parents, who never refused him anything within reason, had been absolutely adamant about respecting the dragon’s instructions. In spite of the arguments he had raised to them, and in spite of his denials and his anger, they had pledged him to the first person that would make him laugh, irrespective of their upbringing. In a very public way. In a proclamation, no less.

It didn't help.

Oh, it helped the economy, as knights and merchants, warlords and princesses, peasants and warlocks, poured from all corners of the mighty nine kingdoms. They all had pulled the best jests and the funniest pranks, the most humorous stories, and the funniest tales. Yet all of them, one by one, succumbed to failure. Most of the times, the Prince remained impassive, sometimes he frowned at the jests done in poor taste, other times he simply left the room. Once all these people realized that their mission had been impossible all along, some of them returned back where they came from, others remained and purchased lands or decided to enter the Prince's protection, or joined their warlord's ranks. Thanks to all these visitors, the small businesses bloomed, the commerce flourished, the inns were always full.

However, Steve remained the same, impassive as ever. Perhaps a bit angrier and more annoyed at the fact that nobody was asking him what he wanted. That foolish dragon with his stupid prophecy. He didn't want to be rescued. He didn't _need_ to be saved.

He had been saved before and he had not been worthy of the tremendous sacrifice which had accompanied it. It hurt even more that the sacrifice came from the person that he had least expected. All that the rescuer had left behind were nightmares and the memories of _him_. A bright red star. Dirty chainmail and bloody silver sword. And blue eyes – like the sky in winter, a chill blue that even now haunted Steve's dreams.

“Running away from your own feast?” A strong hand squeezed his shoulder, startling him so badly, he might have squeaked like a girl. He canted his head and glared at his best friend, but Sir Samuel Wilson was not deterred at all, “Wow, I would say that flashing those baby blue eyes might have an effect on me, but you see, being subjected to them time and time again has left me utterly immune.” Sir Wilson grinned cheekily before burying himself deeper in his fur. “Also, couldn't you have run away somewhere warmer?”

“I didn't run away. I just needed some air,” Steve grumbled then turned back to the garden illuminated by the torches. “Besides, it is no different from the other feasts we had for the past year.”

“How would you know? You'd mysteriously disappear from most of them, or simply remained completely detached from what was happening.”

“Please, Sam, I really don't need a sermon from you as well,” Steve's voice was laden with a terrible exhaustion, the type of which burned the soul and left little for the body. “I hear enough from my parents, I don't need more from you.”

“Fine, but don't think this conversation is over.” Sam took a deep breath. “It is a beautiful night, albeit cold.”

“Wow, a conversation about the weather?” Steve's eyes lit up a little as he noticed from the corner of his eyes that his best friend was already rolling his eyes in annoyance. “How the mighty have fallen!”

“It's either this or going back to the feast. And something tells me you're not ready yet. Also, I have some good gossip.” Sam turned towards him, leaning with his back against the cold marble wall, the sensation making him shudder a little. But nothing could erase his playful smirk off his face and oh, how Steve envied him at times.

Sam had been there with him, every step of the way. He had seen the same horrors, had traced the same hydras. They bled and shared food, they shuddered and cried when everything became too much, yet Sam didn't lose his sense of humor, his easiness around men. Whereas Steve, burdened by the sacrifice of another and the duties towards the kingdom and his men, had succumbed to this permanent state of emptiness. Nothing seemed to touch him anymore.

Yet, as he looked at Sam, wrapped in that silver fur, with his gentle smile and his good humor, Steve felt grateful for having such a wonderful friend.

“Very well.” Steve nodded and remained expectant. “What did you find out?”

“I have on good authority that the Red Knight is on his way here,” Sam said.

“Stark?” Well, this was unexpected.

“Sir Anthony Stark himself!” Sam exclaimed, grinning like a maniac. “The Red Knight, Storm Bringer and Lord over dwarves.”

“You just love to invent titles.” Steve rolled his eyes, but stepped next to his friend and pushed shoulder against shoulder.

“What does Stark want? It's rather dangerous to make such a trip during the winter.”

“Well, the valley hasn't closed yet and the heavy snows are still to come. From what I heard he doesn't plan to stay for more than seven sunrises.” Sam winked and pushed back against Steve's shoulder, “Rest assured though that the purpose of his trip is most certainly not marrying you.”

“Haha, you are so funny,” Steve's sarcasm was still going strong. “I know you already are aware of the reason for his visit. Is it something new? Have hydras reappeared?”

“By the old gods, Steve, nothing of the sorts!” Sam sighed and clapped him on the shoulder. “You need to let go of those memories, my friend. They do you no good.” Sam's hand tightened on his shoulder and when Steve made an attempt to move, he only squeezed harder but didn't let go. Sam tilted his head to one side and said with the same honesty that made him well-known: “Steve, I will say this only once tonight. You need to speak with someone, a man that shares the same memories as you, the same life experience. And you need to do it soon. I don't care about curses or proclamations. I care about you. I worry about you. I say this as your loyal friend.”

“I know, Sam, I know, but-”

“Are you already running away from your own feast?” Sam groaned in annoyance at the interruption as Steve turned to roll his eyes at his other best friend, Sir Clinton Barton, also called Hawkeye. Renowned on the battlefield as an extraordinary marksman and an incredible fighter, the knight had steadily risen through the ranks. Fighting alongside the Prince, Sir Barton had gotten the opportunity to show his valor and tremendous bravery. His honesty and loyalty had also brought him into Steve's inner circle.

But now he stood in front of them, with his white collar rolled up, smiling lopsidedly, a clear sign that he had a bit too much mead. He pulled up the collar of his green tunic up a bit, though it was in vain with the cold now getting stronger.

“As I told Sam, I wasn't running away. I just needed some fresh air,” Steve said and took the cup from his friend's hand to take a sip.

“Hey, I didn't come here to have my mead stolen,” Clint snapped his goblet back and grumbled under his breath, by the sound of it something most definitely not pleasant towards Steve. He settled next to them and shivered. “And for all things holy, Steve, can't you just run away to warmer places?”

“That's what I said,” Sam replied and laughed a little.

“Great minds think alike and all that,” Clint tipped his goblet and took another sip of the mead.

“All right, let us not get ahead of us,” Sam quipped and yelped when Clint reached past Steve to push at Sam's face. “Hey, be careful with the merchandise! I have to see some ladies, later on, Barton!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Clint finished his cup and let it rest on the wall. “Hey, is it true that the Red Knight is coming for a short visit?”

“Does everyone know about it, except me?” Steve asked, peeved a little at the fact that he had been so preoccupied with the problems at the court that he missed such important news. Lord Stark had been a valuable ally during the war, and although they didn't always see eye to eye on things, Steve had always appreciated Stark's value and his ability to sacrifice himself at times for the greater good.

“Well, I think it's more of an informal thing. It is a short stay from what I heard. Also, he brings with him only a handful of knights,” Clint informed him as he pushed against Steve for a bit of warmth.

“What's the reason behind his visit?”

“Apparently, Lady Pepper had finally surrendered to his insistence and accepted his marriage proposal,” Sam answered. “Which I find rather admirable as Stark's level of agitation would tire even a dragon. Anyway, I think he just wants to invite you and your parents to the wedding.”

“That's joyous news and I am happy for both of them.” Steve pushed against the wall and stepped aside. “Come, let's return to the feast before Clint freezes his ass completely.”

“You'd like to have an ass like mine, even frozen!” Barton batted his eyelashes at the Prince, who narrowed his eyes.

“You know, I do miss the times when you used to heed to the difference of rank between us and you used to be a lot more respectful.”

“I don't remember that ever happening.” Sam winked at them then grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pushed him towards the great hall. “Come! Let's feast tonight and be merry. And make sure that Barton doesn't puke in front of a beautiful lady.”

“Hey, that happened only one time!” Clint's voice was drowned by his friend's laughter and the music from the hall. Steve shook his head and went back to his place, his soul a little bit lighter.

Caught between his royal duties and trying to sign a new treaty with the Stormbringers from the north, Steve almost forgot about Stark's visit. It was only at his mother's insistence that he was currently waiting in the main courtyard of the castle to welcome Lord Stark. He was advised that the lord's retinue was small, thirty knights in total. While danger still existed in the world and there would always be plots against crowned heads, the fact that Stark's retinue was that small was a clear evidence that he considered the world to be largely at peace. That settled some of Steve's doubts.

The hooves of a mighty black stallion resounded suddenly on the stone dales as Stark's well-known red armor appeared followed by his men. Stark was grinning mischievously at Steve and the Prince realized that he kind of missed Stark's playful nature, even though at times it was completely exhausting. The bright red of his armor was in a deep contrast with the black armors of the rest of his convoy. On his right flank, a woman was watching her surroundings impassively, but her weariness was visible as people began to murmur. The lady's bright red hair was a clear indication of her identity. Lady Natasha had been one of the few people that had managed to escape King Alexander and one of the few to offer a clear insight on what was happening at the times behind the closed gates of that cursed kingdom. She had fought bravely alongside them and then had vanished once the war was over.

“I heard she has some Firebird blood running through her veins,” Clint whispered in Steve's ear, his awe tainting each word.

“My star spangled prince!” Stark exclaimed, making a few people closer to him laugh. Steve simply rolled his eyes at him. Whereas Stark's banner was an open flame, a sign of wisdom and courage, Steve's was a white star, bright and guiding his people and his knights into a new era. It was also a constant source of jests for the Red Knight.

“Still as annoying as ever, you red bastard!” He replied and Stark guffawed. By then he stopped in front of the steps that led to Steve and his own welcoming party. Most of his retinue was finally in the courtyard. Steve was about to say something even more annoying when a sudden sea of murmurs and gasps filled the yard, as people's faces showed disbelief or fear. They all were looking at the back of Stark's convoy because leading the rearguard was none other than the Winter Knight himself.

Suddenly all air disappeared from the yard as Steve found himself unable to breathe. He had never believed that Lord Stark was a cruel man, however, in that instance, he had some serious doubts. The Winter Knight kept looking ahead with an unnatural aloofness that gave an almost cruel shade to his blue eyes.

Blue as the frozen sky. Blue as the sea. Blue as that day when Steve had thought that the world was about to end.

****O~O~O****

_Steve drowns in screams, groans of pain and grunts. The battlefield is a compact mass of agony and exhaustion. His arm cramps painfully as he lifts his shield and strikes his opponent, another already attacking him on the side. His sword baptizes flesh with iron then strikes again and again and again. He is one with the masses, knights, sorcerers, warlords, and spears, all fall around him as if they were trees cut down short by mighty gods, all made of the same flesh, flesh and blood, all praying or screaming for their loved ones, or simply falling apart and away. Leaving no trace, other than their blood spilled on that cursed land._

_Steve inhales the sharp twang of the hydra venom and smoke from their catapults and arrows, the sickly sweetness of blood and the distinct smell of iron. He doesn't know whose side is winning anymore, but his gut tells him this is the final battle, the one to decide the fate of all the nine kingdoms, one way or the other. Friends or foes, they are all bloodied, muddied and hurt beyond recognition, Steve himself a victim of a deep cut on his side, a bite from one of the hydra's heads, luckily non-lethal, and a nasty blow to the back of his head._

“ _My righteous anger is my savior, my righteous anger is my gain! Oh almighty god of anger, give my arm the mighty strength!” He shouts the prayer of the old knights, who had fought back in the days against injustice and dishonor. They prayed that their anger acted as an anchor for their beliefs and righteous fury against all things wrong. And it feels so good to be angry at that moment when so much strength has already left his body. The words spring something in him, pushing him further and further, leading steadily the vanguard, undeterred, unstoppable._

_Then suddenly Steve sees him. Perhaps as a last resort, King Alexander himself is on the battlefield, pushing away, his red star in severe contrast with his silver plate. On the flank, a bit further away from him, though, it is the mighty Winter Knight himself and he is breathtaking in his fierce strikes. The Winter Knight is beautiful like only an ice storm could be or a devastating hurricane in the still summer air. He is the crisp wind of winter and the burning ice. Unfeeling. Unbeatable. Undefeated._

_Time stops all around him. Steve freezes on his spot, aware only of the Winter Knight, who also appears to do everything within his power to reach the Golden Prince, as Steve's own allies named him. How can the gods allow such cruel beauty to exist? The Winter Knight's metal arm catches a ray of the apathetic sun, the red star on his shoulder glinting like an ominous sign._

_King Alexander had marked all of his men, the red star a brand of both shame and property. It was a cruel reminder of what they had become, had the twisted King left them with their memories intact. But none was worse than the Winter Knight. The rumors had it that he had been captured about a year and a half ago and it took the King and his mighty sorcerer a while to break him. But broken did he become indeed! The Winter Knight was brutal in his efficiency and in the past six months, many renowned knights had fallen under his sword._

_Oh, how his sword sings as he sows terror among Steve's knights! The knight's chest is protected only by chainmail and a leather plate, brown and thick, a red hydra painted towards his collar. His flesh arm is covered in chainmail and two metal plates, one protecting his weak shoulder and one the elbow, strange leather strapping connecting them. But the Winter Knight is most renowned for his metal arm, the pinnacle of all things dark and magic, imbued with supernatural strength, able to squeeze one man's throat in a matter of seconds. His metal arm is a thing of twisted beauty, vicious interlace of metal plating and chainmail, leather strapping on his forearm keeping everything seemingly together. His battle garb leaves the arm exposed, the red star on one of the shoulder plates is an abhorrent reminder of who he is serving at the moment._

_They say no one knows who the Winter Knight is. Vicious in his efficiency, the Winter Knight breaks ranks as he draws nearer and nearer to Steve. Oh, how cruel fate must have been when she sew the thread of life for the two of them! Because Steve knows who the Winter Knight is._

_Abruptly, Steve breaks ranks as well, Sam's indignant shouts lost in the deafening sea of sounds. His heart picks up again, faster and faster as his limbs move almost of his own accord, the white star on his shield tainted with blood, but the wings he had drawn on it a long time ago seemingly giving him the necessary momentum to approach the Winter Knight._

_The Winter Knight is deadly as a blizzard, his arm rising time and time again to throw away opponents or crush them on the spot, while his sword strikes just as expeditiously. The distance between them grows smaller and smaller, Steve's heart stuttering in his chest. It's been so long since he had the opportunity to gaze into those blue eyes, now murderous and ice cold. The Winter Knight pushes away violently one warlord and he finally stands in front of Steve, unmovable, their common past dead between them and standing shattered at their feet._

“ _Bucky,” Steve breathes. The name a benediction onto itself._

“ _Who the hell is Bucky?” The Winter Knight replies, his metal arm unmovable, but in such a stark contrast with his flesh one, making the man almost unworldly. He makes no attempt to attack Steve, but the Prince knows that this means nothing. The battle rages on around them. The Winter Knight tilts his head, frozen blue assessing the situation._

“ _The Golden Prince,” he says in a neutral tone, though his eyes are shadowed again by oceans of ice. “Your star-”_

“ _You said that it suited me,” Steve interrupted him. Breathless. Impatient. “That I will guide my people the way the white star guides our merchants.”_

“ _I don't remember.” A sad smile paints the knight's lips._

“ _Bucky, please-”_

_The sword comes out of nowhere, the sickly squelch of iron against flesh resounding in Steve's ears like a curse. When has the Winter Knight moved so fast? One moment he was a few steps away from him, the next moment they are breathing the same air, Steve almost able to taste the knight's sweat, inhale his wild scent. His full lips are slightly parted in a desperate breath. The corner raises crookedly, as if the knight has forgotten a long time ago how to smile, and breathes, “Steve.”_

_The Prince's name feels like a curse on those lips. Or like a benediction. And even when the knight's body falls to the ground, Steve simply can't move, frozen to the spot, unable to comprehend what just happened. Facing him, there are other blue eyes, King Alexander smirking defiantly._

“ _Come, little princeling! Let's see what you're made of!”_

_Suddenly it seems like the god of anger himself has descended upon Steve, for his sword strikes viciously, startling the awful king. Even now, Steve doesn't remember much of the battle but he remembers the strength of the enemy's blows, his attempts at using magic, and when proven useless, his pathetic efforts to then escape and hide behind the last of his guard and the last remaining hydra._

_By the time the light extinguishes from the king's eyes, Bucky is buried in a sea of bodies, rivers of blood and tombs of carved flesh._

****O~O~O****

As he kept watching the Winter Knight with his black armor and the open flame, with his metal arm hidden away under his cloak, Steve felt as if his most precious secret, the dearest to his heart was being exposed in front of everyone. As if Lord Stark had forced out his beating heart and thrown it bloodied and still beating onto the frozen dales in the courtyard. For Bucky had been his dearest secret, one which no one knew, not even Sam, not even his mother. A secret that he thought had been dead and buried a long time ago. But now, as they stared at each other, all the others very much aware that one had sacrificed for the other, Prince Steve realized that the secrecy would always be theirs, but it had robbed them of any familiarity in such surroundings.

Steve steeled himself as he took the first three steps and welcomed Lord Stark, aware of that ice storm in front of him. Gorgeous and mesmerizing as ever.

**Chapter Two**

 

Wrath coursed through Steve's veins like molten lava, almost luscious in its delayed effect. As soon as the formalities were over, Steve pulled Lord Stark away, fingers trembling with fury:

“How could you bring him like this? Without even telling me? Without letting me know he was alive in the first place?”

“Easy, starlight!” Lord Stark pushed away and Steve released him, his fingers grasping air with wrath and despair. That breath he and Bucky had shared on the battlefield was still so very alive in his mind even now. His friend sighed when he saw the look on the Prince's face so he hurried to say, “I found him not too long ago before summer turned into autumn. Lady Natasha was with him. They were both starving and his wounds were infected. I honestly don't understand how he had survived that long but he did.”

“You mean to say that Lady Natasha took care of him all this time?” Steve felt somehow wrong-footed, chest painfully constricting.

“Yes, apparently there is a debt of blood between them and a common history that I honestly don't feel like touching with a ten-foot spear,” Stark said and took a look around them to make sure that no one was listening to their conversation. “It was quite difficult to convince them to follow me back to my castle. I honestly think that my Pepper's gentle nature was the only thing that convinced them to remain.”

“I was happy to hear that you two are betrothed,” Steve changed the subject if only for a moment, to gather his wits over the fact that Bucky was alive. Alive and somewhere in his castle. “It speaks highly of your character that she did you the honor of accepting your proposal.”

“Only you can give such a back-handed compliment,” Tony smiled ruefully and squeezed Steve's shoulder, his eyes turning kinder. “I honestly wanted to apprise you as soon as I found him, but he was very much adamant that I not. He says he isn't worthy of anything and he wants to retreat to the north. Maybe on the lands of the Iron Kingdom, maybe even further north with the Stormbringers. I heard that there were some talks even with the Vucari.”

“The Vucari?” Of course, Steve thought, for the wolves loved the winter and their god. But to think of Bucky amongst magical creatures renowned for their cruelty hurt the Prince in ways few things had hurt even throughout the war. “Doesn't he know that everyone is aware of the sacrifice that he had made?” Steve's heart painfully stuttered in his chest.

“He doesn't believe his sacrifice could ever wash away the innocent blood that he had spilled before,” Lord Stark replied. His inquisitive eyes stared back at Steve as if searching for an answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask. “I know that there are some things you wouldn't reveal to me, but know this, Steve. I had to cut that man's metal arm and replace it with another.” Tony shuddered at the remembrance. “It is not something I wish to repeat. Had it not been for the Karzeleks and a wealthy sacrifice to Svarog.I don't think he would have been here today.”

“The Karzeleks? Since when do they intervene on behalf of mortals?”

“Since King Alexander, cursed be his treacherous name, had tainted more than his lands with the foulness of his deeds,” Tony said and smiled ruefully at Steve. To his horrifying realization, Steve began to blush, which encouraged Tony all the more. Lord Stark grinned well-knowingly, “He and Lady Natasha are going to spend a few days here to gather the necessary supplies. I would suggest using the time wisely.”

“To what?” Steve passed his fingers through his short hair at a loss.

“To thank him, to kiss him, to let him make you smile?” Stark's sarcasm wasn't lost on Steve. “It's really up to you, but whatever you decide, Steve, do it quickly before it's too late.” Stark clapped him on the shoulder rather merrily, taking into consideration their discussion. “Now if you don't mind, I need some food, some mead, and a bed, not necessarily in this particular order. I will see you later on.”

Steve's heart continued to hammer in his chest throughout the day because the news of the Winter Knight being alive and well shook him to his core. Not once did it cross his mind to go back to the place of the fight and see whether he could at least find his body. There had been so many things to do after the battle, like tracking the rest of the defeated King's troops, that by the time the memory of what had happened reached him, he had already been back at his castle, trying to help the survivors.

“So that man is the Winter Knight?” His mother cornered him that afternoon, the light already fading from the sky as if a candle blown off by the gods. Startled, Steve put the parchment down. He realized that he didn't remember anything from what he had read so far.

“Yes,” Steve nodded as his mother took a seat in front of his sturdy desk. Her kind blue eyes looked at him knowingly.

“I offered him a grand guest room, the best for my son's savior but he refused it. He is on the west wing in one of the smaller chambers.”

“I am not surprised,” Steve replied and poured himself some water before downing it quickly. “He's always been a man of simple taste.”

“And how would you know that, Steve? I thought you've never met the man before that battle.” Queen Sarah's sly look warned him that it was impossible to lie to his mother, not that he had ever tried. She had always managed to find out the truth. However, Bucky had been his secret for so long, it felt almost like a blasphemy to reveal him now.

“Lord Stark mentioned to me that it took a while to convince the knight to accept his help. I do not think that the man would be comfortable in any luxurious dwellings.” The sudden sadness in his mother's eyes only spurred Steve on, “I am sure that he and Lady Natasha will enjoy their stay here, mother, irrespective of their chambers.”

“As you say,” the Queen nodded then stood up, coming around the desk. Cupping Steve's cheek, she said gently, “I just want you to find your happiness, Stevie. Nothing else matters to me.” She kissed him gently on the forehead then smiled at him. “I will let you get back to work now. Lord Stark seems quite taken with my crystal collection and he wants to bring Lady Pepper a similar gift. The man is sweet but exhausting. I honestly think she said _yes_ because he simply wore her down.”

“Knowing Tony, most likely.” Steve's lips almost twitched.

Queen Sarah laughed and she was almost out the door when she stopped to look back at her son. “I'm not sure if you noticed, but you seem lighter now that he is here. Winter has come and brought the Winter Knight with it. It is rather poetic, is it not?”

Without waiting for his reply, but taking in his fierce blush, his mother nodded one more time then closed the door behind her with an almost inaudible click. Steve leaned back and pinched his nose. Was he so obvious in his interest towards the man?

The following sunrise brought no change into Steve's routine. He had his meeting with his father in the morning, dividing the tasks between the two of them. His father's curious look remained unspoken and for that Steve was most grateful. He then had breakfast in the great hall. Disappointment left a bitter taste in his mouth when he noticed that the Winter Knight was not among the people already gathered there. Even Lady Natasha was letting Sir Barton mouth her ear off. Although the lady maintained a vigilant eye over Steve, as if she wanted to speak with him, she didn't dare approach him. He sincerely thought, though, that Lady Natasha was unstoppable in getting what she wanted. Sam and Tony spoke freely like the old friends they were, sometimes speaking over each other, trading funny stories. After all, Lord Stark had come for a joyous occasion.

But Steve didn't feel much joy.

And as time passed by, the gloomy morning took a toll on him. He felt listless and unable to concentrate on much of his paperwork. It had started to snow and now the white veil covered the surroundings with its fluffiness. Thank Morana that the usual rough wind didn't follow. The earth was seemingly taking a nap and the tranquillity of it all lured Steve in the royal gardens.

The frosty air awoke a certain mindfulness in Steve as he trudged through the gardens, among dormant rose bushes and hedgerows, among naked trees and dead leaves sleeping in a white bed of snow. As a child born in summer, the Prince was not a fan of cold and winter, but there was something almost poetic in the sleepiness that took the world in its drowsy embrace. He was just about to return to his attendance room when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Who's a good boy?” It cooed and Steve recognized it in an instant. “Yes, you are! You are, sweetheart!” He sped towards the directions of it, all the while his steps muffled by the snow.

The Winter Knight was not as standoffish as he had been in the courtyard. On the contrary, alone with the small dog that was nipping at his fingers, Bucky appeared to be almost content. His long hair, which by now must have reached his shoulders, was tied behind his back, a few strands falling around his pink ears, giving his face a friendlier air. His thick blue cloak encased his shoulders making him broader and stronger than the last time the Prince had seen him.

“Bucky,” the name escaped his lips like a benediction held tight to his heart and the man startled so seriously, all blood left his face as he rose to look at Steve. Back on the battlefield, Bucky had been as beautiful as an ice storm, but now he seemed like the god of blizzard himself. But his eyes... _His eyes_... There was nothing cold in them. They _burnt_. Steve was mesmerized.

“Your Highness,” Bucky said distant and cold, bowing a little. The little dog barked once unhappy that Bucky's attention was no longer focused on it. “I apologize, I did not know that I am trespassing.”

“You are not trespassing,” Steve hurried to say. “You are always welcome to take a stroll through the royal gardens.” As always as of late, Steve took in their surroundings, noticing that they were alone. He looked back at Bucky whose stiff posture was less than encouraging. Steve sighed adding almost as an afterthought, “Please, call me Steve.”

“My memory is full of blanks and holes, but something tells me I have never called you by your name,” Bucky replied and petted the dog with his flesh hand, before it took off, most likely back to the kitchen doors, where it would receive something for its belly.

“No, I suppose not,” Steve swallowed hard. Once. Just once Bucky had called him by a different name, one that the Prince had not expected. But that moment was so far away from them now, it felt like a figment of Steve's wishes rather than a stolen moment from his life.

A gust of freezing wind wrapped around them like a wet blanket, their thick cloaks almost strangling them. When folds of their cloaks finally settled, Steve blinked a few times, before realizing with dawning horror that he was looking at an empty space where the knight's metal arm should have been. But if he thought that Bucky was pale and unfriendly at the beginning of their conversation, he was now positively surly when he noticed Steve's attention. How come such benumbed eyes could still be as beautiful as ever? And how come this man continued to break his heart time and time again?

Something must have shown on Steve's face, perhaps the futility of his rage or the heartbreak that such wound caused, it didn't matter for whatever it was made the Winter Knight mumble, “Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Steve asked stuttering a little.

“Like I am dying in front of your eyes,” the knight replied with painful honesty. He pulled the folds of his cloak tighter to his body, avoiding Steve's stare. “When Lord Stark rebuilt it for me, he made it easier to take out. Its weight is bothersome on its best days. At its worst, it can affect my shoulder.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve said suddenly timid, his chest constricting painfully, his puffs of air simple illusions in the freezing desert.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Your Highness,” Bucky replied, blunt and eager to put an end to the conversation. He opened his mouth, probably ready to retire when something must have shown on Steve's face because Bucky froze. Uncertainty grasped at his limbs as it made him take a few steps closer to Steve. When they were close enough to share a breath, Bucky stopped and hesitantly, like an almost forgotten dream, raised his hand and pressed two fingers at the corner of Steve's lips.

“Did I truly know you before the war?” The words floated around them as fragile as the snowflakes that suddenly began to fall again. Bucky pushed the fingers a little harder against the soft skin, the touch unbearable in its curiosity, in its innocence. Like a blind man mapping an uncertain memory from a long forgotten dream. “Why is it that you are the only person I truly remember, My Lord?”

Warmth burst like a dying star inside of Steve, sudden and raw. He wished with all his might in that very moment that he could smile, that his lips could twitch gratefully and press harder on those fingers. Taste them, feel their warmth, perhaps convince them to press further. Steve closed his eyes in bitter frustration. He had learned a long time ago that wishes didn't count for anything in real life, that the gods were cruel and picky and would fulfill your dreams in such a twisted way that the poor mortal would come to hate his own betraying soul.

“Yes, you knew me before the war,” Steve answered voice strangled and in pieces as if Baba Yaga herself descended upon him and made him drink a goblet of the purest poison. “We were the best of friends.” Steve's brittle voice barely pushed the words out, abrupt and grave. His eyes shuttered completely when Bucky stared back, his icy eyes as inexorable as ever. The Prince felt shattered yet anchored by that small touch against his skin, a point of stability in that large chasm that his life had become.

He wished that his words wouldn't have failed him, that he could explain to Bucky their common past, shut away from strangers, incredibly sweet in its simplicity. How could he tell Bucky the story of two men that had saved each other in all the ways that counted? How could he push for the fondness that had bloomed between them, only to have blossomed into the most special affection that had been bestowed upon Steve?

He saved the nine kingdoms, but what good did it do when he couldn't save the one person he cared about the most?

For an infinite moment, Bucky seemed closer to him, their breaths blending together with the snow and untold stories between them. But then he pushed away, leaving Steve cold and breathless. The Prince opened his eyes only to be met with a sort of quiet devastation.

“I remember you most of all,” Bucky said his gravelly voice carrying everything like a secret. “Yet people tell me that we never met before the war. That it was only during that final battle, when apparently I saved your life, that we had met in person for the first time.”

“You wanted to keep everything a secret. You were furious when you found out I was a prince.” Steve's fond look released some of the tension in Bucky's shoulders, for although the man still kept himself away, at least he didn't look like he was about to bolt again. “You thought that being around you might put me in danger so you made me keep everything a secret.”

“And did it?” Bucky asked hesitantly.

“Did it what?”

“Did it put you in danger?” Bucky asked this time rolling his eyes a little bit as if Steve was unreasonably obtuse.

“No more than usual.” Steve winked making Bucky snort.

“Something tells me you are the type of man that goes and looks for trouble.” Bucky seemed less forbidding.

“Now you just sound like my father,” Steve grouched making Bucky snort. The knight looked up at the sky, a few more snowflakes clinging happily onto his eyelashes. “I think I should retire,” he said his head tilting a little towards Steve. “Thank you for letting me walk through your gardens.”

“You're welcome to them anytime,” Steve replies, fisting his hands and trying to control his desire to keep Bucky close to him. He must have been completely transparent though for Bucky offered him a rueful smile. Nonetheless, he didn't add anything else and bowing a little, he disappeared before Steve could add anything else.

If Bucky avoided his presence, how was Steve going to convince him to stay just a while longer?

****O~O~O****

“ _You must leave,” Steve says with such an urgency Bucky finally stops working on the shield and looks up. Bucky's cottage is hot and humid, they've been sitting in the kitchen since Steve arrived, but this is not the reason he blushes right now. Bucky's blue eyes are burning with livid stubbornness and Steve knows that this is a lost battle._

“ _I will not run away like a coward,” Bucky finally replies as he put the shield among the others. They are coarse ones, made mostly from the wood the villagers could spare and the little iron their blacksmith could come up with. Bucky is their blacksmith and for the past full moon, he's been busy creating defensive weapons for the villagers, not that they understand how to use them well anyway. However, one should never underestimate the power of desperation. And these people are desperate enough to try and hold on to their lands as much as they can. Although, they are all hoping that this might not be necessary._

_Which, in Steve's humble opinion, is utterly ridiculous._

“ _I don't say run away,” Steve says huffing. He passes his fingers through his matted hair and it's not exactly the best sensation that he had. “I'm just saying you should perhaps attempt again to convince the villagers to retreat into the woods until the danger passes.”_

“ _Your Highness,” Bucky stands up and pours himself a goblet of water. “You know already that I tried and I spoke with Connor about it, but he doesn't want to listen and the village elders listen to his opinion.” He drinks quickly his water, a few drops falling down on his chin. Steve blushes something fiercely because there is something inside his heart that wants, wants, wants so badly, but he can't have. Never ever. “They won't listen to the orphan they all saved from starving to death.”_

“ _I know, I know,” Steve sighs and sits down on a rickety chair. It's crammed in the already tiny kitchen but somehow Bucky manages to sit down in front of him, stealing the little air that was in the room. Their knees are touching and Steve is just so goddamn tired of constantly feeling this craving of wanting to touch Bucky, of wanting to reassure himself that his friend is real. There are times when their friendship, kept as a secret from the others, digs at the reality of it entirely. Sometimes it is almost as if Bucky is nothing but a figment of Steve's imagination, with his dark brown hair cut short, but curling around the ears; with his blue eyes as hot as a summer's day and his calloused hands. His grip is unyielding, his daily work in the forgery keeping him strong, his shoulders wide, hard, an Atlas ready to shoulder the weight of the world, or in this case, Steve's concerns._

_For more than a year now, they have been fighting against the treacherous King Alexander, and it seems that the war might go on forever, none of those involved ready to yield. So far, the war crept slowly towards Bucky's village, but the latest news from Steve's vanguard did not bode well._

_Suddenly callous hands grip his ones keeping them safe from just one moment. His white hands seem so fragile in Bucky's ones, strong, tanned, callous and infallible. His thumbs press gently against Steve's knuckles, soothing and reassuring. Then all of a sudden Bucky leans forward and gently kisses each knuckle, a silent blessing that leaves the Prince utterly bewildered, his stomach to the floor. Steve stares back at Bucky uncomprehending what is happening. His blue eyes are warm and affectionate. He just needs to lean a bit further and..._

“ _You are worried about me, I can understand that,” Bucky says gently, as if afraid that he might spook off Steve. “But no amount of running away is going to keep me safe. If I am to die, then god Triglav will find me wherever I might go. I'd rather die here by defending my village and its people than dying like a sniveling coward somewhere in the mountains.” _

“ _Maybe if I speak to them in an official capacity,” Steve's strangled voice doesn't do justice to his inner turmoil. Only the thought of Bucky's death sends him in a whirlwind of despair. His friend's grip on his hand tightens a little._

“ _They won't listen to you,” Bucky speaks softly. “You are a prince, true, but a stranger nonetheless. Most of them don't even see their lord protector during their lifetimes. What good would a prince do?”_

“ _I could order them to leave, I could make my warlords force them to leave their homes.” Steve's stubbornness is alive as ever._

“ _They'd try to disobey knowing fully well that you wouldn't harm them. They have a little dignity, Steve, but it's theirs nonetheless, and they will fight you for it. Connor would try to fight you, you know he would. He's as stubborn as you, maybe even worse.” Bucky raises their intertwined fingers and presses two gentle kisses, one on each hand. “Maybe the war won't reach us. Maybe it will. But I have to stay here and help them. You have to let me do that t least.”_

_Steve slumps further in his chair but still manages to press his forehead against Bucky's. He brings their hands closer to his chest, across his heart, and breathes in what made Bucky's scent for so long: iron, fire, the faint smell of sweat and something which is entirely him._

“ _I just don't want to lose you,” Steve's voice cracks like a frozen lake in spring._

“ _I don't want to lose you either,” Bucky murmurs. “Maybe once the war is finished and the god Triglav bestows upon you honor and glory, you could return here and help me again keeping the fire alive in the smithy and repairing broken horseshoes. I might even accept an invitation to the palace this time.”_

“ _I may just have to hold you to this promise,” the Prince says wistfully._

“ _I am counting on that, lyubimyy," Bucky promises._

_Prince Steve doesn't ask what the words means, afraid that their meaning might break his resolve and try and take Bucky as far as possible from the war. But they stay like that for quite some time, just sharing breaths and even more warmth._

_Had he known the meaning of that word, Steve wouldn't have left in the crisp light of the morning, wouldn't have waved back to Bucky and pretended to believe the fairy tale they'd woven together the night before. He wouldn't have held on to that glimmer of hope and he wouldn't have had that small peace when he returned back to his encampment._

__

_Because this is the last time he sees Bucky. Unchanged. Unbroken. Pure and true in the warm light of the morning._

__

_Treasured._

__

_His._

__

****O~O~O****

__

The feast was in full swing by the time the Prince realized that the Winter Knight was not going to make an appearance. This time the royal hunters had managed to hunt a doe which was roasting in the middle of the great hall, the warmth of the fire making everyone a bit sweaty and rosy around the cheeks. In fact, everyone seemed merrier than usual and there was an air of anticipation floating around that unsettled Steve. He kept glancing back and forth to the entrance in the vain hope that he might see the knight, but his hope was crushed each time.

__

The sturdy oak tables were filled to the brim with juicy chickens, stuffed with herbs and vegetables, and smoky ham placed on wooden trays. Next to them, on silver trays, enticing with their tangy scent, smoked fish laid next to fried fish, all stuck on small wooden stakes and carefully arranged. Fresh bread and various types of cheese mingled with olives from the southern kingdoms. Mead and kvas flowed freely, barrels brought time and time again by the servants.

“He is not going to come,” Lady Natasha said as she ate a piece of goat cheese. His parents apparently thought it was a good idea to place Lady Natasha next to him, much to Clint's dismay who these days seemed to be thoroughly entranced by the red haired beauty. Lord Stark was seated on his right, but he was currently engaged in a fascinating conversation with his mother and father about crystals and how their energy could possibly be further used in daily activities. By the looks of it, they were both the happiest to discuss such benefits.

__

Steve turned back to the lady on his left, who was currently eyeing curiously the olives. He morosely took a drink from his goblet.

__

“Who is not going to come?”

__

She raised a perfect eyebrow in response, most unimpressed by Steve's obstinate nature, “I don't believe we have time for such games, Your Highness. Time is passing us rather quickly.” She took one olive and ate it carefully. Her countenance remained unchanged but her eyes lit up with a tiny glimmer of wonder. She took another one, then returned her attention to Steve. “He is in the kitchen with the servants and the scullery maids, thinking that is where he belongs. I would suggest going for him there because he will try and make himself scarce as much as possible.”

__

“Why is that so?” Steve asked rather dumbly and Lady Natasha's face turned severed and hard cold steel like she was getting ready to face King Alexander's army all over again.

__

“Listen, Your Highness, far being from me the thought of demanding anything from you, I put some pieces together from the few bits and thoughts that Bucky shared with me. I know you are the only person able to hold him here, convince him there is more to life than burying himself alive in the Iron Kingdom or worse, with the Vucari.”

__

“Why would you want to help him?” Steve asked, rather annoyed at the fact that she too was allowed to use his nickname.

__

“Contrary to the popular belief, Your Highness, I am not as cold-hearted as they claim.” She paused when Clint called her name and raised his goblet in her honour. The lady was quick to follow with a toast of her own, making the warlord flush to the amusement of his friends. “That man saved my life,” Natasha seethed, referring to the Winter Knight. “He sacrificed himself so that I could escape that cursed monster. All I want to do now is to give a little back. If he wants to go to the Vucari after all, then that is what I will do. But I think he does deserve more, don't you?”

__

Steve nodded rather dumbly at her, stricken with bewilderment, for few people were as honest with him as the lady had been and those could be counted on the fingers from one hand. She drank from her goblet again then looked expectantly at the Prince, who fumbled (not for the first time) for words.

__

“He deserves the world,” Steve admitted, at last, making Natasha's lips twitch in acknowledgment.

__

“Then maybe Your Highness should check the royal kitchen and see about a stray knight.”

__

“Maybe I should.” Steve finished his drink and rose to his feet. He was about to walk away when lady's firm grip on his forearm stopped him. Her eyes spoke of daggers in the night and cunningly deployed weapons.

__

“One thing, though, Your Highness,” she said, her voice falsely sweet. “If you don't have to courage to follow through, then please stop now. Because if you hurt him, if you harm him in any way, I promise you that I will make your worst nightmares come to reality.” Her eyes were hard granite. “They do say I have firebird blood in me, after all.”

__

“I understand,” Steve answered a little peeved that her threat had made such an impression on him. Her smile was now that of a spider waiting for the prey to fall in its web, sharp and foreboding.

__

“See that you do,” she replied, then looked back to the place where Sir Barton was laughing along Sam and other knights, clearly dismissing Steve. There was a wistful look on her face (well, as much as Steve thought) though, a sort of sadness that conferred loneliness to her person, and Steve swore to himself that he would have a talk with Clint later on.

__

The kitchen was a flurry of activity, servants, and cooks chopping, boiling and mixing, the most delicious scents blending together in the humid and stifling heat from the ovens and hearths. Others servants were eating, most likely taking turns in breaking from the hellish routine, while others still carried small barrels of mead and kvas from the cellar, the one where they deposited the smaller barrels that could be carried by two or four servants. The entire kitchen spread through four long halls, each of them created specifically with a purpose in the mind, their ventilation smartly created through a series of small square windows towards the ceiling and little nooks of stone that would send cold air from the cellar up towards them. Plus the two main entrances that gave the kitchen servants access to the vegetable gardens but also the aviary, the pigsty, and the dairy.

__

Steve felt overwhelmed almost at once by the agitation surrounding him, the constant to-and-fro of the servants almost maddening in its hurry. The Prince was just about to give up when one of the servants noticed him and almost at once bowed.

__

“He is in the second chamber, Your Majesty,” she said smartly and hurried along as if it was perfectly normal for the Crown Prince to come into the kitchen in search of a wandering knight. Nonetheless, Steve listened to her directions and found himself in the second chamber, that had a way out towards the vegetable garden, now as quiescent as everything else. A nice broth was brewing over a stout fire, most likely to be served tomorrow morning when most of the knights would be suffering from terrible headaches.

__

Bucky was sitting on a stone slab next to the entrance surrounded by a myriad of kitchen children, all listening entranced to what was a very embellished version of Finist's adventures. There were all listening charmed and impressed as Bucky spread his arm gesturing something. Steve wasn't listening anyway. He was just enthralled by Bucky's relaxed posture and the way the cherry shirt spread across his chest and shoulders, one of the sleeves pinned to the black leather vest that Bucky was wearing on top of it. His hair was tied in a loose tail, a few strands curling around his ears or matted around his forehead, due to the steam and heat of the room.

__

Steve stood aside as the man gestured and talked making the children laugh or cry in dismay, but always entranced in the story. And when he finished, they cried for more and begged for another, but they were all sent quickly to bed for it was rather late in the evening.

__

“Should I tell you a story too?” Bucky asked startling him and Steve blushed but still approached him and sat next to him.

__

“Yes, why not?” Steve said ruefully. “I want to see what you can come up with.”

__

“Well, I can tell you for sure that it will be the story of a handsome, but very stubborn prince.”

__

“You think I'm handsome?” Steve blushed even harder but refused to be deterred. Especially when Bucky's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

__

“I am sure you didn't come all the way to the kitchen just to look for compliments.”

__

“Maybe I just wanted to see if everything is settled for the feast,” Steve said quickly and bumped his shoulder against Bucky's. The knight seemed only mildly surprised at Steve's playfulness.

__

“Sure, I'll believe that when pigs fly.” Bucky slumped a little further, his back now resting against the cold wall. “Seriously, why are you here? Why aren't you attending to your feast?”

__

“Because you are here and I wanted to spend some time with you,” Steve answered truthfully, Bucky's eyes widening a bit.

__

“Your Highness, I honestly don't think this is a-”

__

“Here is the thing,” Steve interrupted him rather unceremoniously. “I tend to respond better to threats and advice if people use my name. My mother especially loves to call me by my name when I do something bad, in her very subjective, rather harsh view.”

__

“Right,” Bucky chuckled softly. “I'm sure.”

__

“I know, right?” Steve winked. “So unless you use my given name, I'm afraid I won't be able to take into consideration what I am sure it is your very well intended opinion.”

__

“Is that so?”

__

“Just ask my mother.”

__

“I'd rather not,” Bucky answered, a wry smile painting his entire face in softer tones.

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“I can understand the reluctance.” Steve nodded rather sagely, to which Bucky just rolled his eyes and bumped his shoulder.

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“Are you going to make a nuisance out of yourself if I don't heed to this so well intended advice?”

__

“Naturally.”

__

“Are you going to ask for fairy-tales told every night next?” Bucky joked but narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Steve when the Prince seemed rather keen on answering to this one question. “You know what? Never mind, Stevie, I can clearly see now you are a menace.”

__

His heart lurched painfully in his chest when he heard his name from those beloved lips. Steve wanted to reach for Bucky and press his own fingers against the plump bottom lip, press back his name over its softness, making it stay there forever. Hi whole being was alight with warmth and affection and some of that genuine happiness must have shown on his face because suddenly Bucky looked in wonder at him. Steve felt helpless in front of such temptation and gave in to it almost at once. He pushed his body a little closer to Bucky's, until they could touch from shoulder to thighs, warmth seeping through the soft material of their clothes. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind Bucky's ear and murmured softly:

__

“I just want you here, Bucky. As much as you'd allow me.” He kept his fingers against the silky hair, playing with it, and making Bucky shiver. “I just want you. Entirely.”

__

 

__

**Chapter Three**

__

“I just want you here, Bucky. As much as you'll allow me.” He kept his fingers against the silky hair, playing with it, and making Bucky shiver. “I just want you. Entirely.”

__

The silence stretched between them like a chasm of ice, Bucky staring back at Steve as if he couldn't believe his ears. Then he suddenly stood up, ire coursing through his veins and melting the ice.

__

“You can't have people entirely, Your Highness!” He hissed bitterly. “You of all people should know better than that!”

__

Steve stood up as soon as he heard Bucky's words, appalled by the misunderstanding.

__

“By all things holy, Bucky, I didn't mean it like that. You misunderstood me!” He raised his hands in a placating gesture as he tried to reason with Bucky, “I only meant to stay I want you as you are, with all the wounds and bruises this might entail. I only meant to stay I want you as you are, warts and all, so to speak. I care about you and I do not wish to lose you.”

__

Bucky glowered at Steve with distant fury for a few more moments before finally letting his guard down and adding morosely, “Well, why didn't you say so from the beginning?”

__

“I apologize,” Steve said softly and placed his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “I misspoke, my friend. But rest assured that it does not matter what I want. If you do not wish to continue our friendship, then so be it. I accept it. I will accept your decision, no matter what that might be.”

__

“Friendship?” Bucky smiled ruefully. This time, he was the one who reached forward and gently touched the Prince's cheek. “From my scarce memories, I always thought we had more than friendship.” He slightly blushed, “I can't explain it but-”

__

Bucky shook his head and stopped talking. He closed his eyes for a long moment and took a deep breath before opening his eyes again. The ice had cracked leaving behind small pools of affection, so warm and pure that they took Steve's breath away. Abruptly, Bucky pulled the Prince into a strong hug and Steve could do nothing but melt into this sudden proof of affection. He buried his face in Bucky's neck and took a deep breath. Leather and iron and sweat combined temptingly with Bucky's own scent. It ripped something inside of Steve, burning hot and bitter.

__

“I missed you so much, Bucky,” Steve whimpered in Bucky's skin, words muffled, only for one person to hear. “It's been so long without you. So long and so hard.” Cracked and torn to pieces, left asunder, held together only by Bucky's arms around him.

__

“Maybe my memories are few and far in between, but the feelings never disappeared, Stevie,” Bucky muttered soothingly. The Prince sighed as if a great burden had been taken off his shoulders, leaving behind a gentle pressure within his ribcage, making his heart beat stronger.

__

It took a long time for them to separate and even longer to push away from each other, but in the end, they did so and moved to the outside terrace where the snow had fallen gain. The crisp air surrounded them both, Steve shivering under its touch. But he continued to hold Bucky's hand tight in his and that point of contact was enough to make his heart thud in the most unexpected ways.

__

Maybe it was enough. Maybe it could convince Bucky to stay. At least, for the first time since he saw Bucky again, Steve felt like he had a chance.

__

Therefore, the following morning shouldn't have taken Steve by surprise. But little could be said about his astonishment when he opened the door to reveal Bucky with two servants in tow, carrying the breakfast that the Prince should have served in the great hall. He shouldn't take breakfast in his chambers. It was not appropriate. But Steve couldn’t care less about what was proper when, for the first time in their interactions, it had been Bucky being the one to initiate it. Sitting across from him and having breakfast was nothing he had envisioned happening anytime soon. For their part, the servants looked more than happy to carry on with their duties, even smiling in complicity at one another. Steve wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not, but he ignored them for the most part in favor of making small talk with Bucky.

__

His friend had the metal arm on for the first time since he had arrived at the castle and the Prince watched in fascination as the metal fingers would grasp the chalice with grace. It was indeed a beautiful and practical combination of magic and craftsmanship. Lord Stark deserved all the praise and more.

__

“So how many times did you think about leaving this morning?” Steve asked after a while when they were left alone at last. Bucky raised his eyes from the plate and smiled ruefully, half chewing still. He shrugged before swallowing the food.

__

“About three times,” he replied when it was clear to him that Steve would only press further for an answer. “The third time I actually made it to the barn and looked at my horse.”

__

“What stopped you?” Steve put the silver fork on the table for fear it might show the terrible shaking of his hand, while his other hand bunched the material of his trousers.

__

“The face that you are making now,” Bucky said gently, leaning forward and grasping Steve's hand over the table, his blue eyes as intense as ever. “In spite of thinking about it, I would never leave without telling you, Steve. Never.”

__

“Thank you,” Steve murmured back, looking at their hands intertwined.

__

“You have nothing to thank me for.” Bucky squeezed his hand in reply before leaning back. “Now eat your breakfast. Don't forget that you have to show me around the castle later on when you have a bit of time.”

__

“So this is how it is now,” Steve's delight could be read all over his face. “I am to play the guide to your curiosity.”

__

“Of course, who better to show me all the dark corners where people could kiss?” Bucky winked and laughed at Steve's expense when the man in question blushed something fierce.

__

“And who's to say I'd like to kiss you?” Steve harrumphed only to make Bucky grin again.

__

“Well, I did say people, but if you really want me to kiss you, just show me all those dark corners and I'll see to have your wish granted.”

__

“You are a menace,” Steve mumbled and took a bite of his bread for fear of what might come next out of his mouth.

__

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that.” Bucky winked again at him and Steve's heart skipped a beat or two, though he was sure that would generally be impossible.

__

But eating here with Bucky was one of the Prince's dreams come true. He had always wished to have his friend down at the castle and share all of this with him. For the first time, it seemed quite possible. And Bucky, with his beautiful long hair, with his black clothes making him look imposing, with his smiles and his winks, made the chamber so much warmer in spite of the cold outside. Steve would be more than happy to have this forever. Just this. Was that too much to ask from the gods?

__

The following days were spent together, Steve showing Bucky around the castle, sometimes accompanied by his friends, sometimes by Lady Natasha, other times on their own. They would have most of their meals together, discussing their past of which Bucky remembered little. Just one time, Steve asked whether Bucky would like to return to his village which in the meantime had been rebuilt, but Bucky had declined with a strange-looking smile on his face, half crooked and torn as if the memory of that place alone would have been overwhelming for him. And maybe it had been for that had been the place where he had been captured. Therefore, Steve didn't dare to press the matter again.

__

The only thing that seemed to perturb their newly found contentment was the fact that Lord Stark prepared for the difficult journey back. By then it had become clear to Steve that the Red Knight had never intended in the first place to bring the invitation to his wedding in person. On the contrary, he had acted in such a manner so that he would ensure that Bucky and Lady Natasha would never avoid Steve's lands. This debt alone would be indeed difficult to repay. He had made sure that Lord Stark would not leave without a crystal as the one that he had desired for Lady Pepper.

__

“I feel like I'm leaving with only half of the story,” Lord Stark said as he grabbed Steve's hand and shook it. He looked up at the balconies where Bucky sat. Both Knights had spoken privately the night before, but the Prince hadn't dared to ask them what their conversation had been about.

__

“I'm confused as to what you are talking about,” Steve said at last, though a slight blush betrayed his lack of innocence.

__

“Of course you are,” Stark rolled his eyes in reply, then narrowed his eyes, “There is a story between you and Bucky, a story that apparently, no one knows except maybe Lady Natasha.”

__

“Then why didn't you ask her?”

__

“I didn't lose my mind yet, although it seems so at times.” Stark shuddered. “That woman would kill me with her pinky finger then blame it on an accident.” The Red Knight pulled his wool cloak closer to the body, his mouth almost muffled by the fur collar. He turned serious again, “Don't let this all go to waste, my friend. Don't let his sacrifice and the amount of convincing you had to do be all in vain. Fight for him, goddamn it! We need happy endings, Your Highness, and I'll be damned if I don't see yours!”

__

Lord Stark's emotional outburst was so uncanny for the man that by the time Steve sobered up, the man was already on the horse, the all-knowing smirk back in place.

__

“Safe travels!” Steve wished him then mouthed a silent thank you, to which Stark simply nodded his head in acknowledgment. Then he looked up and saluted Bucky and Lady Natasha. The Winter Knight returned the gesture and bowed a little. Stark smirked again when his gaze returned to Steve.

__

“See you in summer! You'd better come to my wedding.”

__

“I'd never miss the chance at seeing Lady Pepper try and make a gentleman out of you yet.”

__

“Oh, I promise you my revenge will be swift and cruel for this slight,” Lord Stark winked and then gestured his people to begin moving. It would be a difficult and treacherous journey but for once Steve felt optimistic and didn't worry about Lord Stark so much as he would have before.

__

Once the courtyard emptied, the Prince dared to look up.

__

Bucky was alone now, his gaze fixed upon Steve as if the Prince would vanish from before his very eyes if he had dared but to blink. There was something lonely about his friend, wrapped in his dark clothes, on top of the world and yet so isolated. But then the Prince presumed that there was something lonely about himself as well, standing in the courtyard, people bustling around, getting back to their chores. This loneliness had always existed between them and it had been their one thing that they had had in common from the very beginning.

__

****O~o~O****

__

“ _Will you look at me?” Steve says at last gathering the courage to confront this._

__

_He allows himself to follow Bucky inside his house and lean against the doorway to the kitchen, but that was all. Because Bucky is furious. His wide shoulders are a tense line of incredible self-righteous anger, white-knuckled fists at his sides ready to punch something. Or someone. In this case, Steve._

__

_Bucky's fury had never before been directed at him. Until now._

__

“ _You are a prince!” Bucky snarls, cornered like an animal, his face full of hurt, his voice strangled by anger and pain. “And not just any goddamn prince, the Crown Prince, no less. You damn lied to me, you bastard.”_

__

“ _Bucky-”_

__

“ _You lied!” He hisses as he takes a few hard steps right into Steve's space. “You lied, you lied, you goddamn lied!”_

__

“ _I know and I'm sorry-”_

__

“ _No, you're not!” Bucky seethes as he tries to take a few calming breaths. “You're not sorry that you lied to me, you're sorry that you've been caught. Had that cursed page not found you at the inn, you would have continued to lie.”_

__

“ _Look, Bucky,” Steve pleads, “if you could just calm down a little, I'd be able to explain you everything.”_

__

“ _Don't tell me to calm down! I am goddamn calmed down!” But Bucky's body is a proof to the contrary as he is wound up, his muscles prepared as if for a fight, tight like a coil and ready to blow like a firebird in battle. He pinches his nose and tries to take a few calming breaths, although Steve doesn't move because he knows that in that moment if Bucky were to punch him, he wouldn't try and duck. “We've known each other for five years, Steve. You had five goddamn years to explain to me everything, to tell me the goddamn truth.” The tension suddenly leaves his body making him look like a puppet without strings. Hurt blooms like a rotten flower all over his face. “Just go! I don't want to see you ever again.”_

__

“ _Bucky, you don't mean that,” Steve says even as he feels his heart being caught in an invisible and inexorable fist, squeezing the life out of him._

__

“ _I mean it, just go!” Bucky sits down on a wobbly chair, suddenly depleted of anger and hurt. Steve takes a deep breath and he rights himself. There is the temptation to leave as Bucky desires, but there is also the knowledge that if he is to leave, then Bucky will never again allow him to speak in his presence. Although he has had the best education and his existence has been pampered, his parents raised no coward. So he squares his shoulders and takes a few hesitant steps to the other chair, the one that, up to that point, has been his._

__

_But he changes his mind at the last minute and astonishing the both of them, kneels in front of Bucky, his hands in silent supplication to be heard, gently touching Bucky's knees._

__

“ _You were the first person in my life that had no inkling of who I was. You were the first person that stood beside me with genuine affection and loyalty. Though I rewarded that loyalty and faith poorly, you must know how many times I wanted to tell you the truth.” Steve's words, sorrowful as they were, seem to do little to garner good will with Bucky. “You wanted nothing more from me other than friendship and companionship, and you can't possibly understand how much that meant to me. I wanted to tell the truth time and time again. However, as each opportunity passed me by, I lost sight of why it had been important to let you know in the first place. For that I am sorry. But I am not sorry for hiding the reality of my heritage to you because had you known from the very beginning who I was, you would have never been my friend.”_

__

_The truth of his words sinks within the space between them, making the air of the stuffy kitchen as hot as molasses. It suffocates both of them and Steve sees it in the way Bucky avoids his gaze. For they both know it is true. Though Bucky had very few hangs up, to begin with, he still thinks that he isn't worthy even of the little that he has. It had been incredibly difficult to accept that Steve was rich. It would have been impossible to accept Steve as a prince._

__

“ _Please forgive me for not being forthcoming, but I wanted your friendship, Bucky,” Steve says when the silence becomes too much for his frayed nerves. “I wanted your genuine and sincere affection. I wanted you all just for me.” It is the closest he has ever come to the truth that he has been carrying in his heart for a while now. He leans forward his forehead until it rests on those precious knees. “Please, forgive me. Please, continue to be my friend.”_

__

_A warm hand settles on his head, gentle and kind._

__

“ _I'd never stop being your friend,” Bucky's voice sounds raw in the small kitchen, as his other hand comes in contact with Steve's right shoulder and squeezes it in comfort. “But it will take me a while to accept the truth. Knowing who you are now... I don't think I'll ever be able to call you by your name again.”_

__

_Steve is ready to accept any conditions, though he didn't know at the time how much it would hurt him to hear from Bucky only 'Your Highness' and never again his name. But desperation makes people accept anything in order to make it go away, so Steve agrees to Bucky's terms and they hug it out. Although their following meetings will continue to be tense, the knowledge that everything is out in the open now makes Steve lighter in their interactions and Bucky more relaxed. Soon they are back to their old selves, albeit a little more conscious of their places._

__

****O~o~O****

__

“I want to show you something,” Steve said as he gently took Bucky's metal forearm and guided him towards the western part of the castle. The light was already dying as the days turned, in turn, shorter and shorter. The sun's power was diminishing with each day, at times barely able to shine through the thick clouds that had spread over the horizon. And more often than not, in the last few days, snow began to fall relentlessly, covering the world like a muffled blanket. The lakes had frozen and the trees sat in silence guarding the surroundings. And in the distance, the mountains looked almost blue with their peaks more often than not covered in the breath of the gods and hidden from humans.

__

Winter was the season of stories, of bards that would praise the heroic adventures and the misfortune of wars. It was the season of heroic tales and sleepy days. It was as if they were all going to sleep a little earlier each day, trapped in the seasonal enchantment of the snow. However, Steve desired to share that enchantment with Bucky the way they used to in the summers, sharing the warmth of the sun and the coolness of their river.

__

“You're acting all mysterious about it,” Bucky smiled softly, taking in Steve's gesture. He didn't seem to mind, so the Prince continued to hold his forearm. It seemed these days all he ever did was touch Bucky. A pat on the back, a squeeze of the hand, a bump of shoulders. All of this almost to assure himself that Bucky did not leave, that they had until spring, maybe even more.

__

“It's not that big of a deal but I'm sure that you will enjoy it tremendously,” Steve said. Their shoulders touched, warmth seeping through their thick clothes. His fingers grasped the metal forearm a little tighter as his heart gave a painful lurch.

__

“And what have I done to deserve this thing which presumably I will enjoy tremendously?” Bucky hip-checked him because other than the guards, there was no one in the corridors and it gave the Knight the sense that maybe they weren't as watched as they usually were.

__

“You don't need to do anything in order to deserve something nice,” Steve frowned at him. “Besides, it has always been there so it's not like I had it built for you.” They stopped in front of a massive oak door.

__

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked in confusion, which only grew when the Prince took away his hand in order to push at the massive door, having stopped with just one look the guard who had wanted to do that for him.

__

“I'm talking about this,” Steve said to accentuate the effect of the door opening which unconcealed in turn the massive library of the kingdom. Books upon books upon books revealed themselves in the light of the candles, all kept away from them. Sturdy oak shelves had been built to keep the massive tomes, heating in the floor from the natural warm springs to keep the dryness of the room. In between the bookcases, an armchair or a table with a chair could be found, most of them covered in books as well.

__

Bucky took a few steps inside the room and the Prince let the guard close the door behind them. His friend was staring at those books in utter fascination as Bucky had fallen in love with reading after Steve had finally managed to teach him. At the time, they even made plans to open a public library for all people to enjoy the enchantment of reading, before the reality of Steve's situation had hit them and had taken away with it any common dreams that they might have had. The librarian had made himself scarce at Steve's request so that he and Bucky could explore the massive hall on their own.

__

“This is incredible, Steve,” Bucky murmured, unable to take his eyes away from the books, but still able to grasp Steve's hand and squeeze it strongly, almost painfully.

__

“Should I assume that you like your surprise?” Steve whispered back, afraid that he might break the spell. For what a beautiful spell that was! Bucky warm and happy next to him, their hands intertwined, their bodies close, finally sharing all those books like Steve had once wished for.

__

“I really love it,” Bucky said and turned to Steve. “Would I be allowed to come here anytime I want?”

__

“Of course, Bucky,” Steve said softly back and gently cupped his friend's cheek. “I did promise you books when we were younger, didn't I?”

__

“Yes, that you did,” Bucky smiled and his metal arm came to Steve's shoulder. Bucky just pushed a little further and gently kissed Steve on the lips.

__

When he had been little, people used to say to Steve that ice did not burn, that it froze the blood in you and made you sleepy, that it took away the pain in the most unsuspecting ways, that it purged the shivers and made the meat tremble, then brought the drowsiness of the eternal sleep. Time and time again, his masters of teaching and the monks that came from far away with hidden knowledge would praise the ice for its coldness, but assured the Crown Prince that the ice would freeze his heart and put him to sleep. No burning.

__

Yet time and time again, as he stared into Bucky's grey eyes, as he pushed through the thin ice that covered his soul, the Crown Prince would make a liar out of all those people that had come before him, that had taught him everything. For how Bucky's eyes burnt him! They made him shiver in delight when knowing that they were focused on him. They made his stomach clench and his heart tremble. They made him forget words and reasons why he had been miserable in the first place. Bucky had been the strangest and most delicious secret in his life and all of the sudden, that secret was out in the open and Steve felt like he could finally breathe.

__

Before Bucky could retreat or, worse, apologize, Steve grabbed him by the small of his back and pulled him back, his body a tantalizing heat that warmed its way inside of Steve, leaving him breathless as he delved in for another kiss. The kiss burned in ways only ice could, possessive, Steve claiming Bucky in ways he had never been able to in the past. Maybe Bucky was squeezing a little too hard on his shoulder, and maybe Steve bit Bucky's bottom lip a bit too possessive, but the delicious sounds that his friend was making were made of dreams and wishes that had finally been granted to Steve. This made him, in turn, feel raw and exposed, painfully aware of what had just transpired between them.

__

“Don't leave me,” the Prince whispered against those lips in a moment of weakness and his knees almost gave away when Bucky stared back, alive and burning with desire. “Don't leave me,” Steve repeated as he bit gently those beloved lips again as if marking them his own would be a sure sign.

__

“I won't,” Bucky said with certainty. “I won't ever again,” he reiterated, making sure he caught Steve's gaze and held it. “Only gods would be able to take me away from you, Steve, and I'd like to see them try,” he mumbled as he hid his burning face in the Prince's neck. Steve pulled him even closer as if it was unnatural to have space between their bodies. He pressed his cheek against Bucky's head and took a deep breath. Whatever was now between them, it was theirs and theirs only. He'd never say anything until Bucky would be ready.

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**Chapter Four**

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__

There was something blooming inside of Steve, something strong and powerful and reliable that would put to shame all those legends about firebirds and old gods. And as he watched Bucky play in the garden through the snow with that damn dog that kept following him (and how Steve understood the compulsion), he had the absolute certainty that he wouldn't be able to let go of Bucky. That it had been his destiny all along to meet that man.

__

“You know,” his father startled him so bad that Steve squeaked in the most appalling way. His father rolled his eyes at him, but then turned his attention to the man who seemed to be the god of winter himself. “All these moons I've wondered what possessed the famous Winter Knight to save your life in the throws of the worst battle known in recent memory.” His father's voice rumbled in the silence of the room, “You had not met up to that point of the battlefield because it had taken a lot of that bastard Alexander to break him and reshape him. He then had him deployed in the toughest battles, but always far away from you. He was the ice to your fire. Peculiar how Alexander wanted to keep you two apart, even though you were his greatest enemy.”

__

King Stephen finally turned to his son, his eyes certain in their astute knowledge. Steve met them head on because at this point there was no more hiding and his father had never given him any reason to hide. His father studied him in silence for a few uncomfortable moments before finally making his judgment, “You knew him from before, did you not?”

__

“Yes,” Steve answered, that short word blooming inside the room with all those pent up emotions that had suffocated Steve in silence for so many years since he had become aware of his feelings for Bucky.

__

“So when you were saying that you were going to the Enlighten Cloister to study, you actually-”

__

“I was not lying about that,” Steve interrupted his father as the older man frowned at him. “I never lied about any of it.” Turning his back to the window, Steve went to sit on one of the chairs present in his room. “I just omitted to say that I was seeing Bucky as well.”

__

“As what?” His father pressed on as he took the opposite chair.

__

“As a friend,” Steve sighed and pinched his nose. “Just as a friend. He had not been aware that I was the Crown Prince for quite some time. He thought I was the son of a rich lord and I left it at that. He had not been happy about the nature of my heritage.”

__

“What was he before all of this?”

__

“He was a blacksmith. He had been abandoned as a child and raised by the people in the village. The blacksmith had taken him under his wing as an apprentice and after he died, the forge and the ironmongery were left to him, as the man didn't have a wife or children.”

__

“So you were just friends,” his father said assessing the situation, but Steve knew him all too well so he closed his eyes, blushing slightly as he leaned his head over the back of the chair.

__

“I wanted more of him, even back then.” He opened his eyes to look at his father, flayed open and raw, his heart exposed at last for all to see.

__

“You are in love with him,” the King concluded at last and he let the truth sink in the warm air of the room, making it as hot as the forge, almost burning Steve with its reality for those words had not been uttered before out loud, not even by himself.

__

“I am,” he admitted smiling wistfully. “Please, father, I-” The King raised his hand silencing his son in an instant. His whole world trembled, shaken by the sudden bleak thought of the possibility his father had never intended to gain such a truth. But his father was watching him intently, with such warmth and love that Steve felt suddenly shocked by the intensity of it.

__

“I wished for your existence for so long,” his father said, gravely voice soaked in emotion, “that when your mother gave birth to you and I was able to hold you in my arms, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would do anything for you. I know that sometimes I am too tough on you, but not for the lack of love, my son.” His father reached for him, warm hand on his cheek. “Being a king is lonely for the responsibility of choice ultimately resides on your shoulders alone. However, it makes it easier and less lonely when you have someone beside you to support you, such as I have your mother. Not only does she support me, she also shoulders some of the burdens of the ruling.” His father smiled ruefully at him. “What I am trying to say is that all I care about is for you to have the same support as I do. And as long as your love is strong and true, I do not care who makes you smile.”

__

“He did not make me smile yet,” Steve said, his voice strangled under the onslaught of emotion.

__

“I am sure it won't be long now,” his father replied with a fond look on his face as if he knew a secret that Steve didn't. It made the Prince squirm. “Come here,” the King mumbled and both of them stood up and hugged each other. “I am proud of you, my son. Rest assured that this had not changed,” his father whispered in his ear, making Steve squeeze his eyes harder for fear the tears might spill. “I love you and I just want you to be happy, the rest is ashes and dust.”

__

“Thank you, father. I love you too,” Steve's voice was peeled off of any restraint, raw in its emotion and torment.

__

They remained embraced for quite some time, but none had dared to bother them and none had been the wiser anyway.

__

****O~o~O****

__

_Steve opens his eyes and takes a long breath through his nose and exhales through his mouth as if almost expecting his breath to become visible in the warm air. But winter is far away still. The sun shines through the trees above, each playful ray catching their bodies and blessing them with warmth. More often than not, a gentle breeze follows them like a caress and Steve shivers in pleasure._

__

“ _Are you cold?” A kind voice asks drowsily. A callous hand pats him on his forearm._

__

“ _No,” he mumbles almost afraid to break the moment._

__

_There is so much silence in this moment. There is so much peace._

__

_He pushes himself up, resting on his forearms and looks down at the boy next to him. They both have a while to go before their bodies catch up with their desire to become men, but undoubtedly, Bucky is beautiful. He is a beautiful canvas of long limbs – his forearms tainted by burns and cuts, mostly due to his apprenticeship at the forge – and of strong hard muscles, stretching and pushing through fragile skin. He is thin, leaning towards the lithe side, but in a few years, most likely he will build muscles upon muscles. Where Steve is stockier and more strong-limbed, mostly due to his constant training sessions with his masters, Bucky is a more complex and elegant combination of sinews and muscles, of power and fragility._

__

_Bucky is beautiful in ways that drive Steve mad. At times, he wanders whether Bucky is just a figment of his imagination, some sort of unnatural being come to punish Steve with his intangibility. He is beautiful in ways that make Steve want to touch, a hot snake of heat and desire pooling low into his belly._

__

_He came to terms a while ago that he wants. He wants Bucky. He wants to feel those callous hands mapping his body, he wants those beautiful icy eyes heating up, he wants that body above or under his, it really doesn't matter, as long as he would get to taste Bucky. Steve shivers again at the simple pleasure of thinking about this._

__

_He turns his head again towards his friend. Bucky smiles with his eyes closed and Steve wants. But maybe one day he'll get to have as well._

__

****O~o~O****

__

It happened on the most ordinary of days, in the dead of the winter, fresh snow falling from the sky, making everyone losing hope that spring would come anytime soon. Although they had been preparing for the further rebuilding of the kingdom, with Bucky helping Steve make some serious down-to-earth decisions for his people, for the most part, they had all been praying to have the snow stop falling at least. But the mountains had looked darker and darker for the past few moons and in the end when the snow had started to fall again, everyone groaned in dismay, but no one was astounded.

__

Steve had been revisiting some of their old treaties all morning hoping that he might find a way to improve them come spring. King Alexander's reign of terror had left its mark on the treaties as well but Steve felt it was time to become cautiously optimistic and revise the said treaties, focusing more on economic and commercial support rather than on military. In the meantime, Bucky had been preoccupied with a few books related to irrigation and how he would be able to build one come spring, to see whether they would be effective in the long run.

__

But by noon, boredom had caught up with them and sent them in search of their friends. Everyone had become accustomed to seeing them together more often than not and absolutely no one questioned their closeness. His mother had been a bit upset that Steve had hidden from her the fact that all his life he had been in love with Bucky and the truth about their relationship, but she had forgiven him quickly in favor of finding out more details about the two of them. His father also seemed to accept Bucky, a lot of time taking his counsel when it came to problems related to the common folk. Paradoxically, it had been most difficult for Bucky himself to accept the generosity and kindness of everyone around him.

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They invited their friends to join them on the terrace where the servants brought hot beverages and left them on the tray. Sir Samuel smirked knowingly when he saw Steve and Bucky coming over and holding hands.

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“I honestly don't know how much more of this sickly sweet stage I can take,” Lady Natasha said put upon before taking a sip of her beverage. “It makes me sick to my stomach,” she added and rolled her eyes for good measure when Bucky simply narrowed his in response.

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“Excuse me, are you to say that you and Clint are not the same?” He said challengingly, patting the dog that seemed to have supernatural powers and always knew when Bucky was outside. He had named the dog Lucky and a lot of times he would be the one to go in search of the damn animal, as more often than not playing with it would take his thoughts away.

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“I have no clue what you are talking about,” she said quickly and turned away from him as Sir Barton made his way towards them. She simply lit up as soon as his eyes found her, or as much as her restrained nature would let her.

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“Yes, sure, she has no idea,” Bucky grumbled as he continued to pat the dog and play with him in the snow.

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“Maybe I should start complaining about all these sweet looks,” Sir Samuel said quickly winking in good humor. “After all, I seem to be the only one who has not found love yet.”

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“I am sure that the ladies at the court do not believe that to be so,” Steve said although his attention was on Bucky. “I seem to recall at least a few ladies that claimed you to be their suitor.”

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“Lies! All falsities and lies!”

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“Sure, you keep telling yourself that,” Steve said as he winked in complicity to Bucky. But just as Bucky was about to return the gesture, the dog pushed against his hand a little harder and the man lost his footing, hitting the ground with very little finesse and turned up covered half in snow for the amusement of his friends. Steve chuckled softly for it was quite an amusing sight to see Bucky in such a ridiculous state. However, he left his chalice on the tray and went to help the man get off the ground.

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“That should teach you feeding him from the table,” he said, laughing softly when the dog licked the stubbled cheek in penance. In that precise moment, it seemed to have caught up with him what had just happened. He remained frozen with his arm extended.

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“Steve, are you all right?” Bucky asked and stood up quickly.

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“I just laughed,” Steve said in wonder.

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“Yes, and?” Sir Samuel asked, just as puzzled as everyone else.

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“What do you mean and, Sam?” Steve whirled around and looked at his friends. “Wasn't this the whole point of the last two winters now? Wasn't this the thing that everyone was concerned about and wanted me to marry the first person that made me laugh?”

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“Well, yes, but,” Sir Barton scratched his beard as, apparently, no one wanted to shave during winter, “you have been smiling since Bucky arrived.”

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“What?” He turned back to Bucky, who shrugged looking quite embarrassed. “Wait, that is true?”

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“Yes, you smiled when you saw me entering the courtyard,” Bucky said and came closer. “You have been smiling all this time.”

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“That can't be true, can it?” Steve grasped Bucky's cold hand while suddenly a lot of things made horrible sense. Like all the people insisting on telling him where Bucky was, watching them in silent complicity as if all of them partook in a secret that Steve had no business being part of. “Why hasn't anyone said something then?” But he already knew the answer.

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“It had to be your conscious decision, Steve,” Sir Barton answered, sounding quite amused by the whole situation. “We had no business intervening. Besides, we all thought you couldn't be that dense. You proved us all wrong. And thanks to you, Lady Natasha here won the wager. Thanks for that, really.”

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“You had a wager based on when I would smile?”

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“Now you're being intentionally obtuse,” Samuel rolled his eyes. “We had a wager on when you would realize that you have been smiling at Bucky all this time.”

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“And I won,” Lady Natasha confirmed, “though, in my defense, I really didn't expect to take this long.”

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“It doesn't matter really,” Bucky intervened and cupped his cheeks in between his cold hands. Those blue eyes burnt again with something that now Steve secretly called _love_. “You can smile or laugh or be happy anytime you want. You must have realized by now that this was never about the laugh, it was about people loving you and just wanting you to be happy.”

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“Ugh, too much sweet love in the air,” Sir Samuel exclaimed raising his arms in defeat. “Go back to your chambers and sort yourselves out. And don't come out of it until you two have expressed your undying love for each other. In any ways possible, even physical if you'd like. We'll inform everyone not to disturb you.”

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Steve didn't remember how he managed to walk towards his chambers. It was possible that Bucky might have held his hand throughout all of it, he wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that his soul soared in love and desire and as soon as the doors closed behind them, he pressed Bucky against the rough surface and kissed him vicious and possessive. Bucky surprised him by surging into the kiss, just as happy to give back what he was receiving and it took them a while to calm down enough to move further into the room and be done with their clothes. It was the culmination of a long winter in both their souls.

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At last, the shirt fell from Bucky's shoulders with a soft thud to the floor. His body was a map of life, scars and bruises, a soft reddish irritation from the weight of the metal arm around the shoulder. His chestnut hair fell in disarray around his shoulders and his breeches could barely hide the interest in the proceedings. But his blue eyes – they burnt like ice and Steve wanted all. He wanted this man in ways he could never have another.

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Half naked as well, Steve fell to the hardwood floor with little grace and embraced Bucky's mid-drift before he pressed a kiss around his navel. Bucky's flesh trembled in anticipation as Steve took his breeches off and pressed a kiss around his groin too.

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“A Prince should never kneel,” Bucky whispered, his voice cut in a thousand different tones, all filled with breathless desire.

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“I am no prince in my chambers,” Steve said then bit gently in Bucky's thigh. His hands spread possessively around Bucky's back and he raised his eyes meeting blue with blue, devotion with devotion and love with love. “I am but a man in love.” Steve stood up and kissed Bucky again with all the fire of long awaited journey that had reached its conclusion.

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Steve took the man that he loved to bed, each caress gently mapping each scar, each unblemished patch of skin, each bruise and each freckle, while curious fingers, dipped in special oil, eased Steve's pathway to give Bucky the utmost pleasure. Kisses and caresses were exchanged with such generosity, they filled the room with moans and gasps of pleasure. But nothing gave Steve more pleasure than seeing Bucky's eyes half closed, neck straining as if Steve's touches were otherworldly.

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Still, when Bucky opened his eyes and reached for Steve's face with an unbearable gentleness, Steve's heart stuttered in his chest and froze, for all his love and trust and fears were reflected back in those blue eyes. They had opened their hearts and souls to each other and now they were free to roam each other's darkest corners. Yet, even in those terrible corners, there was trust and loyalty and friendship. Never doubt. Only love.

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Without even realizing, Steve pulled his fingers out then prepared himself and with one final look, he gently pushed his manhood inside Bucky in small thrusts until he was finally seated. By then, Bucky had wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulders bringing them both impossibly closer, licking away each moan in pleasure, nipping gently at his lips. They both stared at each other as if in wonder, sharing breaths and wet kisses.

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“Bucky,” Steve murmured breathlessly.

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“Steve,” Bucky said back with just as much reverence.

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“This is _everything_ to me,” Steve said as his fingers combed tenderly through Bucky's hair. He pressed butterfly kisses like small and silent benedictions against Bucky's eyes and nose and lips, still not moving. The world outside that room had ceased to exist. Flesh upon flesh, heat against heat. They kissed and they kissed and they kissed until their lips felt overused.

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“I love you,” Steve murmured into his ear after a while and Bucky shuddered yet again under the weight of such a confession.

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“And I love you,” Bucky whispered back with the same feverish conviction. He kissed Steve back as the Prince pulled his hips back a little only to snap them forward again. At the beginning, his thrusts were shallow, letting Bucky adjusting to Steve's girth, but in time, the feel of connection and the touches of skin on skin became unbearable for both of them. Steve pushed his arms under Bucky's legs, allowing him more room to move, and soon enough, each thrust pushed Bucky a little farther up the bed, though he gave as good as he got, his hips meeting each of Steve's thrusts. The heat and sweat between them were almost suffocating, creating a world where only they and their lovemaking were the only things that existed. Their breaths mingled together as if they couldn't bear to be separated in any way.

__

They never closed their eyes.

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Later, there would be more time, Steve thought. Later, he would explore Bucky's body slower, more teasingly, making him beg, making him feel cherished. But at that moment, all he wanted was to see Bucky come, as his own pleasure began to course down his spine, pulsating closer and closer to the point of release. He gently let down one of Bucky's legs and reached for his cock. Steve started to match the moves of his hand with his thrusts. It took him just a few movements before Bucky suddenly exploded on Steve's hand and his own chest. The subsequent tightening sent Steve over the edge and, with one hard and final thrust, the Prince spent himself inside his beloved.

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Steve collapsed on Bucky and he must have been heavy, but his Knight didn't seem to care for he didn't let Steve retreat. They breathed in unison and for a long moment, the silence only helped to push them closer still.

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“Forever then?” Steve mumbled in Bucky's skin, like an invisible brand, marking forever what they would have.

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“Forever,” Bucky said back and tightened his embrace.

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It was the culmination of a secret that had caught wings at last and had flown in the open. And what a beautiful sight it was.

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**Epilogue**

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Once upon a time, in a far, far away kingdom, there was a Prince that regained his smile. His parents were happy, his people rejoiced and his friends celebrated. Their beloved Prince had returned and they all had to thank the Knight with the bluest eyes that burnt like ice. Laughter and happiness had returned to the lands. For everyone could see that the Prince was smiling again, laughing and telling jovial stories, each tale followed by chuckles and warm touches, friendly pats on the back and smiles to last a lifetime.

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Their Knight had returned to them too, for all the affection and the laughter that Prince Steve was letting out in the open, they were all mirrored by the Knight. Few people could tell whether they had seen two people that loved each other more than the Prince and his Knight. As the prophecy of the dragon rang true, its implication echoed in the people's hearts – prosperity and peace would follow for such honest and profound feelings couldn't bring anything else other than good things.

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There was no talk of marriage yet, but everyone acknowledged there would be no one else for the Prince. As for the Knight, he had made his feelings clear on the matter each time he stood by his Prince's side, each time his entire soul was sent in flames. They looked for each other and more often than not, all they needed was for one or the other to turn their head just a little and that was where the other would be.

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Present and unyielding.

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Steadfast and true.

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In love.

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****O~o~O****

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“ _What are you reading?” The voice comes out of nowhere. It startles Steve so badly, he drops the book. He looks around in time to spot a young man no older than him, watching him sheepishly. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”_

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“ _It is all right,” Steve replies taking in the new arrival. The boy is filthy, a dark smudge on his right cheek. His hair is sticking in all directions, his shirt is half tucked in his breeches but both of them are filthy and his boots must have been better looking when he first had them made. But he has the bluest eyes that Steve had ever seen on a person, carefree and bright, like a clear summer sky. “I'm reading the adventures of Sir Thouma, a knight that lived on these lands a few hundred years ago,” Steve answers at last. “Have you read it?”_

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“ _No,” the boy scratches his cheek absent-mindedly. A cute flush rises on his cheeks painting even his ears in red. “I don't know how to read.”_

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“ _Do you want me to read it to you?” Steve says and silently pushes himself a little further so that the young boy can sit next to him if he wants to. The arrival looks a little bit surprised but hides it well in favor of sitting next to Steve. He smells of fire, ash, and iron. Sweat that still cools on his flushed skin and something wild that seems to be entirely him._

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“ _Thank you,” the boy mumbles and smiles shyly at Steve. “My name is Buchanan but everyone calls me Bucky.”_

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“ _My name is Steve.” The Prince frowns a little. “I don't think I have a nickname, but my mom calls me Stevie sometimes. I don't like it though. It makes me feel like a baby.”_

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“ _I will call you Steve then.” They shake hands, both having callouses, one from sword training, one from work in the forge. But it would take them time to find out those details._

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“ _Shall I start reading?”_

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_Bucky nods and leans back a little more until his back hits the bark of the tree and then tilts his head and closes his eyes. Steve starts to read the book from the very beginning, though he had been well into the plot. The joy and enchantment that he can see on Bucky's face more than make up for the hoarse voice and the sudden thirst that hit Steve. But Bucky knows a nice spring and they even find some fresh berries._

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_It is one of the best times that Steve had since he arrived at the cloister some moons ago. Bucky is funny and honest in ways people aren't with Steve, mostly because they know he is the Prince. Therefore, he lies when Bucky asks him about his origins. They make plans to meet another day so that they continue reading Sir Thouma's adventures._

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_Steve has a better plan still. He will teach Bucky to read and bring him all kinds of books._

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_Because Steve realizes he just made his first friend._

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_The thought of it makes him smile for the rest of the day._

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**The End**

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**Author's Note:**

> This was my first time participating in a Reverse Big Bang Challenge and it was an incredible experience. I was lucky to snag @littlestarlolo's art and transform her wonderful art into a story. It was a great feeling to collaborate with her. And again a special shout out to the amazing mods at CAPRBB, who always answered my questions and helped me out when I needed. 
> 
> This story has some elements from a sweet Russian fairy-tale called "The Tsarevna who would not Laugh". 
> 
> Thank you for reading our little story! :)


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